


Fighting for Love

by kristen_p



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Artist Clarke, Clarke gets mugged, F/M, Fluff, Healer Clarke, Modern AU, Protective Bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 03:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13628109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristen_p/pseuds/kristen_p
Summary: Bellamy and Clarke are neighbors and best friends. Clarke works at the local hospital, and Bellamy visits often – because he keeps getting in fights over the gym he runs. When Clarke gets attacked, she coerces Bellamy into teaching her how to fight – and they both can’t deny that their friendship might just be something more.





	Fighting for Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashleigh! @craniumhurricane](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ashleigh%21+%40craniumhurricane).



         “You’ve got to be kidding me. Again?!” Clarke says as she makes her rounds through the ER.

         “Listen, the guy was asking for it,” Bellamy replies, holding an ice pack to his head and sitting on one of the ER cots.

         “He might have been asking for it, but it looks like you were the one who got it,” she says, examining him. He has a couple cuts along his forearms, and a decent-sized incision on his abdomen – blood seeps down his shirt. That one will probably need stitches.

         “Seriously, Blake, a knife fight?” She lifts his blue shirt further to examine the cut. Yep, it’s bad. She places her fingers near the wound to see if it’s still bleeding and to get an estimate of how deep it is. At her touch, Bellamy hisses.

         “I didn’t know he was going to pull a switch. I was just looking out for one of the boys,” Bellamy says. Clarke drops his shirt and meets his eyes. She finds guilt and worry etched in his expression.

         “Is everyone okay?” Clarke asks, ignoring her rounds and the other residents asking for help.

         “Yeah. Jasper is a bit roughed up, but he’s fine. When I found them fighting, I stepped in, but the guys kept coming and then somebody had a knife. It’s fine,” Bellamy finishes, pulling his shirt all the way down and setting the ice pack in his lap.

         “I guess that’s what you get for running a boxing gym,” Clarke says, raising an eyebrow.

         “MMA, not boxing,” Bellamy clarifies. Clarke shrugs a shoulder and grabs Bellamy’s medical chart.

         “MMA, boxing, karate, poking each other with sticks, isn’t it all the same? You run a gym of fighters, and they’re bound to do just that – fight.”

         Bellamy opens his mouth to protest, but before he can, a nurse bustles over.

         “Clarke, we’ve got two car crash victims, and both will likely need surgery, will you come help me prep?” Clarke nods and the girl rushes off.

         “I’ll have Jackson come stitch those up really quickly, okay? Then you need to ice that bruise. If you want to wait until my shift is over at four, I can drive us both home if you want, okay?” She asks Bellamy.

         “Will do, Princess. I’ll be waiting,” he says, that stupid grin pulling at his lips.

         “You’re lucky we’re neighbors, Blake, or I’d never drive your sorry ass home. And put that ice back on your face!” she says, walking away.

         “You know you love me!” he shouts after her.

         “You wish!” she says over her shoulder. Luckily, she’s turned the other direction when her cheeks redden. A small smile forms on her lips.

 

***

         After the rest of her exhausting shift is over, Clarke makes her way toward the front doors of Arkadia Central Hospital. Her feet are killing her, and her head is pounding.

         “Hey, Clarke,” a voice calls to her as she passes through the front doors. Bellamy steps up next to her and smiles – ice pack still pressed to the left side of his head.

         “Oh yeah, sorry Bellamy. Completely forgot I was driving you,” she says, and together they make their way to her car.

         “That stuff tends to happen when your shift ends at four in the morning. Remind me, why did you end up getting this shift?”

         “I’m a new resident in their program – first and second years get what they get,” she says. “Head feeling any better? Did those cuts stop bleeding?”

         “Yes and yes, actually.”

         Clarke unlocks her car and they both slip inside.

         “That’s the third time I’ve seen you in the ER this month, Bellamy. At this rate, you’ll be one giant scar in a year or so. Or dead or something.” She didn’t intend for the words to come out harsh, but each time he shows up battered and bruised, Clarke worries more and more that her best friend one day might not even make it to the ER. She pulls out of the parking garage.

         “I know, Clarke, and I’m sorry. Things are just tense right now, with my gym losing money every day and the fights not going well in the ring at competitions. Azgeda’s fighters keep losing to mine, and then they take it to the street to square off. If I don’t step in, I’m afraid someone is going to get seriously hurt,” he says. Clarke glances over at his bruised face. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a long breath.

         “What about _you_ getting seriously hurt?”

          “Huh?”

         “Bellamy, I’m worried,” Clarke says, pulling into the parking lot at their apartment complex.

         “I’ll be fine, Princess. Indestructible, remember?”

          “Tell that to the black eye you’ve got right now, Blake.” She shuts off the car and yawns, closing her eyes.

          “Tired, Princess?” Clarke grunts in response and stays plastered to the driver’s seat.

          Bellamy gets out of the car and before Clarke knows what’s happening, he has walked over to her side of the car and opened her door. He undoes her seatbelt and lifts her, bridal style, out of her seat.

          “Bellamy!” Clarke screeches, grabbing for her purse as he shuts the car door with his booted foot. “This is completely unnecessary!”

          “Too late, Clarke. When I see a damsel in distress, you know I have to save her,” he says. Clarke barks out a laugh at that.

          “Damsel in distress my _ass,_ Bellamy Blake. Ah! Oh my god!” she holds on to his neck and shoulders as he rapidly carries her up the stairs to their third floor apartments. A smile breaks on her face as she holds on for dear life up the last flight of stairs, bumping and jostling in Bellamy’s arms.

          “Here we are, Madam Griffin, apartment 307,” Bellamy says, setting Clarke gently on the ground on front of her door.

          “You know you had stitches put in three hours ago, right? And you just carried me up two flights of stairs.”

          Bellamy lifts one eyebrow, and pulls up the edge of his shirt.

          “Looks fine to me, Doc. What do you think?” Clarke bends down to check. He’s taken off the protective bandaging – of course – and there’s only very minimal bleeding. Stitches all intact.

          “Lucky you,” she says, “You’re just fine.” She steps away from him, but not before she notices his flat, muscled stomach. Her breath hitches for just a moment, and hopefully Bellamy doesn’t notice.

           “All good?” he asks, his expression something Clarke doesn’t recognize. She nods, unlocking her door. Bellamy turns to his door – 306 – and does the same.

          “See you tomorrow?” he asks. Clarke points a finger at him.

          “As long as it’s not in the ER,” she replies, giving him a fake glare.

          “I make no promises, Princess,” he says, and then walks into his apartment. Clarke rolls her eyes and steps into her own apartment.

          Walking in, she sees it’s mostly clean but for the faint traces of Bellamy: a couple pairs of his shoes, a few of his DVDs, and a to-go soda cup that is _definitely_ not hers. Dropping her purse on the kitchen table, Clarke picks up one of Bellamy’s tennis shoes.

         Finding the spot on their conjoined wall that matches up right with his bedroom, she playfully throws the shoe at the wall. Through the wall, she hears him shuffle in bed and groan.

         “Get your shit out of my home,” she says at the wall, grinning.

         “Never,” he mumbles back, though she can barely hear it. She can picture him falling asleep, head lolled to one side, hair falling into his eyes, and one arm resting on his stomach. He’s fallen asleep at her place enough times for her to know.

         As Clarke gets ready for bed, she wonders when she started to see her best friend as something more. She wonders how much longer she can shove her feelings for him down.

 

***

 

         Clarke is painting the next morning when Raven and Harper bust through her front door. Their abrupt entrance causes her concentration to dissolve, and she shifts her focus from the still life she’s painting to the two girls in the living room holding orange juice and champagne.

         “Drop the paintbrush, blondie, it’s brunch time!” says Raven, and she waves the bottle of champagne around. “Let’s make these mimosas!” She steps into the kitchen and begins rummaging around the cupboards.

         “Did you forget?” Asks Harper, setting the orange juice on the kitchen table and examining Clarke’s painting. “Saturday brunch? Every week? We bring the booze and you supply the location? Love the painting, by the way.”

         Clarke shakes the tiredness out of her head and smiles at Harper. “Yes I forgot, but not to worry – I am always ready for a mimosa. Let me clean off my brushes really quick.”

         Harper gives a thumbs up and joins Raven in the kitchen, helping gather brunch-like things.

         After cleaning her brushes off in the bathroom, Clarke returns to her kitchen to see the table set, mimosas ready, and muffins and fruit sitting out.

        “Harper, Raven, this is so sweet! I feel bad that I forgot,” she says, taking a seat next to her friends and picking up her glass. “To amazing friends – love you both.” They clink glasses and drink.

         “So, skip the chit-chat, what’s up with you know who?” asks Raven. She picks up a large muffin and stuffs it in her mouth.

          “Who?”

         “Don’t play dumb, Clarke,” says Harper. “Bellamy. Are you two—”

         “Doing it yet?” Raven finishes, interrupting Harper. Clarke chokes on her mimosa. The walls are too thin for them to be talking this loud.

         “Raven!” Clarke whisper-yells. Raven only shrugs one shoulder and shoves more muffin into her mouth.

         “We might as well ask about the good stuff while we have time. We barely ever see you anymore, with you working so much and spending time with mister-boxer-man,” she says. Clarke looks over to Harper, who nods in agreement. Alright. She should probably tell them.

           “Listen, _nothing_ is going on between us. Okay? Sometimes I think… I don’t know. He just doesn’t feel the same way. I can tell,” she says, all at a whisper level so he can’t hear. He probably isn’t home anyway – the gym is busy on Saturday mornings – but she’s quiet just in case.

            Harper places a hand on Clarke’s on the table.

            “You don’t know that, Clarke! You’ve been friends for so long, maybe you’re just too close to the situation to know. Maybe he’s hiding feelings for you just like you are for him. Maybe putting your feelings out in the open will clear the air,” she says.

            “That’s a good plan,” Raven says, “Or you could just go for it – just straight for the kiss. You’re both hot, it’s obvious you’re both into each other, I say go for it.”

            “Raven that’s insane,” Clarke says.

            “Is it? Because every damn time I have seen him in here, he’s wearing one of those bro-tanks, and honestly, if that doesn’t say _let’s do it_ , then I don’t know what the hell does.” Luckily, this time Clarke isn’t drinking mimosa and doesn’t choke on it, but she still gasps.

            “That’s from work! He sometimes comes over after the gym! He’s not intentionally doing that. And some people just wear tank tops like that,” Clarke says defensively.

            The other two girls look at each other and roll their eyes.

            “Honestly, Clarke, I think Raven might be right. I mean, all that banter and flirting you do? It might not just be innocent flirting. Maybe it’s because he’s into you. Last weekend at the bar, he was all over you,” Harper says, sipping her drink.

            “But –”

            “Just trust us, Clarke. We wouldn’t say this if we thought he didn’t like you or that you wouldn’t be a great couple. Because he does. And you would. Get it?” Raven says. At this point, she’s demolished three muffins. For a tiny mechanic, she can put down some breakfast food. Clarke grabs a muffin for herself.

            “Maybe you’re right. I just don’t want to ruin our friendship, or risk a relationship that doesn’t work. I mean, we _are_ very different. Med student and gym trainer? It doesn’t exactly fit perfectly.”

            “Hot-ass gym trainer,” Raven mumbles.

            “Raven, do you want him?” Clarke asks. Raven barks a laugh.

            “No, Clarke, I’m just trying to help you see it. You love him! Who cares about the details?”

            “Me! I do!” Clarke replies, running her fingers through her blonde curls.

            “You’ll just be miserable if you do nothing, Clarke,” says Harper. Clarke picks at her chocolate chip muffin, eating just the chocolate chip parts.

             “You’re right. I just have to figure out when to tell him. And how. And where. Oh god,” she says, beginning to panic.

             “No! No worries! You’re fine!” Harper rushes out, pouring more mimosa into her glass. “It’ll be great. You’ll know when it’s the right time. But for now, let’s talk about something else. Are you doing that art show in a few weeks?” Clarke starts to answer, but Raven butts in.

            “I want to talk about Harper, and the fact that she _spent the night_ at Monty’s last night! I didn’t know where she was until she came home at 8am this morning!” she says, dropping an info bomb. Harper goes beet red, and Clarke gasps.

            “Tell me everything, oh my god!” Clarke says, drinking from her glass and shrieking for joy at her friend. The three friends spend hours finishing all the mimosa they made and eating the remaining muffins and fruit.

 

***

 

            It was evening when Clarke was finally alone again in her apartment.

            “Yeah. Lo mein. Extra white rice. Yeah! Thanks! Okay. I’ll be there in fifteen. Bye,” she says, hanging up the phone. Chinese food is the best comfort food, and that’s what Clarke needs right now – comfort. Should she really tell Bellamy? It could ruin everything.

            “I can do this,” she tells herself. “I can tell him tomorrow night at weekly movie night. I can do that. No big deal. But for now, Chinese food.” Clarke considers a jacket, but doesn’t grab one. Arkadia is warm at night in the summer. She picks up her purse, throws her phone in her back pocket, and heads out to the city street outside of her apartment complex.

            One thing she loves about Arkadia is the busy city life – everything is always moving. When she applied for residency here and finally got accepted, she was ecstatic. It’s been a dream come true so far, but definitely hard work. And Bellamy… he’s been a rock during hard times. She’s lucky to have him. And lucky that they, of all people, became neighbors.

            She rounds the corner to the street that has the Chinese Restaurant she ordered from, and immediately feels unsafe. The street is completely empty, and a few of the streetlights are flickering or burnt out. It’s not an alley, but it sure feels like it.

            _Only a few more feet, Clarke,_ she tells herself. She can already see the neon sign for the restaurant. All she has to do is walk a bit and cross over to the other side.

            She doesn’t see the figure in the dark until it is too late. The man reaches out to grab her purse, and instead of letting him take it, she holds on tighter.

            “Let go!” she shouts, panic seizing her insides, “Help!” She manages to tear the purse out of his grip and run a few feet away, but he follows her, slamming her body into the wall of a nearby building. The breath rushes out of Clarke, leaving her struggling for air.

            “You wanna fight, girlie?” says the man.

            “Stop,” she says, trying to regain sanity and strength. He shoves her harder against the building, her shoulders digging into stone. “Let me go,” she manages to say.

            “Stupid girl,” he says, and hits her hard across the face. Clarke doesn’t even register the pain. Finally, her flight instinct takes over, and she struggles free of the man and attempts to cross the empty street. The man doesn’t give up, though. He pulls at her purse again, and his fingernails scratch Clarke’s arm all the way down as he takes her bag. Ignoring the pain, Clarke lets him take it, and runs as quickly as she can toward the restaurant.

            When she finally bursts through the door, she falls to her knees and a sob racks through her. The workers rush over to try and help, but Clarke can’t focus. She needs help. She needs _him._ As the workers swarm around her, she ignores them and searches her pockets for her phone. As the workers swarm around her, she ignores them and searches her pockets for her phone. _Yes._ It’s there. She pulls it out, and after quickly apologizing to the workers in the restaurant, steps back out and stands right outside, next to a very bright streetlight. She dials.

 

***

            Bellamy’s watching the newest History Channel documentary when his phone buzzes on the side table in the living room. It’s Clarke.

            “Yeah?”

            “Bellamy?” Immediately, he knows something is very wrong. “Are you there?”

            “Where are you, what’s wrong?” he pauses the show and stands, on edge.

            “I… I—” she starts, but a sob breaks loose, and nothing else.

            “Clarke, where are you?” his panic level is already through the roof. If something happened to her….

            “Chinese restaurant, 4th and Johnson,” she says, voice weak. Bellamy grabs a jacket and slips on shoes.

            “I’m there. Give me five. I’ll be right there, Clarke,” he’s out the door and running before she hangs up.

            Before long, he spots her. She’s standing right outside the restaurant, holding onto a streetlight like it’s her lifeline. When she looks up and sees him, her knees buckle and she sinks to the ground.

            “Clarke!” he rushes to her and pulls her close, keeping her off the dirty concrete. She cries into him, and reaches an arm up to hold his shoulder. That’s when he notices the scratches on her arm. His body hardens with rage, and Clarke notices.

            “Where is he?” he asks, pulling away if he needs to be on guard for someone. Clarke’s hand pulls his face back to look at hers, calming him.

            “He’s gone,” she says quietly, “he’s gone.” Looking more closely at her face, he sees the bruise forming on her cheekbone.

            “Oh my god,” he whispers, and lifts her up fully into his arms. “Can I take you to the doctor? Do we need to go to the ER? Oh god, Clarke, I am so sorry this happened to you.” She rests her head perfectly on his shoulder.

            “Take me home. No doctor. I’m fine,” she says. He steps away from the streetlight and makes his way back home, cradling her light weight in his arms.

            “You sure you don’t want me to find this bastard and rip his damn arms off?” he asks, rage flaring up inside him.

            “Home,” is her only response. So he takes her home – despite wanting to throw a few punches (or maybe grenades) at the man who did this to her.

            When he reaches the third floor of the apartment complex and heads for Clarke’s door, she stops him before he gets there, hanging on to the edge of the door to his apartment.

            “My apartment?” he asks. She nods. In a few seconds, has her set down on his black couch and he’s crouching down in front of her, examining her wounds.

            “Clarke, are you going to be alright? Can I ask what happened?” he says, placing a gentle hand on her knee.

            “I’m fine,” she says quietly. “Honestly, It’s no big deal. A guy tried to take my bag, and I should have just given it to him, but I didn’t and…” she trails off.

            “Clarke, it _is_ a big deal. I’m pissed because this is such a big deal,” he says. He wants to pull her tight to him, but doesn’t. She probably needs her space right now.

            “But you always fight, and it’s no big deal, so –”

            “No. That’s different. I fight in the ring, where it’s a game of skill. A pre-planned, agreed upon fight. This, what happened to you tonight, was a crime. Fights are not supposed to be in the streets. God, I… I want to go after that guy so damn bad…” he says, trying to reign in his anger. He refocuses on her face, looking into her deep blue eyes.

            “I didn’t give him my bag, and he shoved me into the wall and hit me and eventually took my bag and scratched my arm up,” her face is sad while she speaks, but she doesn’t cry. “I have never really felt unsafe in Arkadia, but after tonight, I – I don’t know. I should have just given him my bag, none of this would have happened.” She rests her head on the back of the couch.

            “Clarke, I’m so sorry that happened. And, just so you know, you can always call me if you need a walking buddy. Anytime. The city might seem safe, but not all of it is,” he says. He wants to reach out, to touch her, but doesn’t know if he should.

            “Got that right,” she says, readjusting and sitting up more. She winces a bit, and Bellamy wonders what hurts.

            “Let me go grab my first aid kit, or some towels or an ice pack,” he says, getting up from in front of her.

            “Ice pack, wet paper towels, and maybe some antibiotic cream,” she lists to him. He rummages around in the kitchen for the supplies and returns.

            “Okay, what first?” he asks. She’s the doctor here, anyway.

            “My arm stings, so let’s start there,” she says. She makes room for him on the couch and he sits next to her, thighs touching. He lifts her arm gently, moving it one way then the other. Her skin is soft under his touch.

            “Damn this guy,” he says, still not over his anger.

            “Calm down, Blake, it’s over. I want to just forget about it. Wet paper towel?” he hands it to her, and she dabs here and there on her arm, where the fingernail marks look the worst. He unscrews the cap off of the antibacterial cream and starts dabbing it different places on her thinly muscled arm. He can hear her breathing, feel her leg pressed against his.

            _Focus, Bellamy,_ he tells himself. He can’t let himself fall for her. He can’t.

            “Bellamy?” Clarke’s voice brings him to the present.

            “Sorry, yeah?” he replies.

            “I said I wish I had known how to fight back. Good thing is, I know someone who owns a gym,” she says, eyes on him. Her cheeks are a bit pink.

            “I… you want me to teach you how to fight?”

            “To defend myself, yeah. Better late than never, right?” she asks. Bellamy sets her arm back down as well as the antibacterial cream.

            “You sure, Clarke? Remember the last time you came to my gym?” the edges of his lips pull up, and so do hers. The guys are always nagging Bellamy that he should date Clarke, and last month when she showed up to the gym, they nearly proposed _for_ him. Both he and Clarke took it all as a joke, saying they would never date, but now…

            “I’m willing to risk it if you are,” she says, “as long as they don’t marry us right then and there in that gym.” Bellamy chuckles.

            “I wouldn’t put it past Roan,” he says, “but alright. How about sometime next month I bring you in for a few sessions, and –”

            “Next _month?_ I’m talking about tomorrow, Bellamy,” she says, urgency breaking into her tone.

            “Seriously?”    

            “Do I not look serious?” she asks, and she gestures to her face, where the bruise on her cheekbone is getting darker by the minute.

            “…I… alright, then. Tomorrow morning, we hit the gym. As long as you are physically well enough to do that,” he says, giving her a once-over.

            “I am,” she says.

            “Okay,” he replies.

            “It doesn’t sound like you believe me.”

            “Well, Clarke, I’m not gonna lie, this whole thing is kind of terrifying.”

            “I’m sorry,” she says. He looks over to her, head tilted to the side.

            “Don’t be sorry. It was not your fault,” he says. He can only imagine what could have happened. It might have been so much worse. Even thinking about it sends angry jolts through his head.

            “I didn’t even get my Chinese,” Clarke mumbles.

           “What?”

            “I wasn’t just taking a night stroll, Bellamy. I ordered Chinese,” she says. “Luckily, the only thing in that purse was the cash I was using to buy it. And some pictures and Kleenex and stuff. No credit cards though, so that’s good. That asshole didn’t get anything important.”

           He hadn’t even thought of that.

           “Well, want me to order us Chinese? Delivery this time?” he asks. She gives him that fake glare he loves, and he breaks out into a small smile.

           “Honestly? I’m not really feeling Chinese anymore. Maybe not ever again,” she adds.

           “Huh. That’s sad. Wonder why…” he says sarcastically, knowing he’s being mean. She shoves him playfully. “But seriously, if you’re hungry, I can make you something.” But she shakes her head.

            “I just want to sleep,” she says, and her face gets red again, and her hair falls into her eyes. He tucks the hair behind her ear, wanting to see her beautiful face.

            “What’s up?” he asks.

            “I don’t really feel like being alone,” she replies, lifting her gaze to his.

            “Alright, then, Princess. No worries. I have the best couch ever created, and you’re already on it. We can watch the History Channel until we fall asleep, how’s that?” he asks, hoping this isn’t too forward. Bellamy is always wondering where the line of their friendship might blur into something more. Could it? Will it? Bellamy can’t get his hopes up – Clarke’s his best friend, and he can’t jeopardize the comfort they’ve got, right?

            “Sounds great, Blake,” she replies, turning around and leaning her back on his chest. The movement causes Bellamy’s heart rate to pick up. Her head is so close to him – he could place a soft kiss right on her beautiful blonde hair. But he doesn’t.

            _She’s a friend,_ he tells himself over and over. He can’t focus on the documentary. He’ll have to re-watch the entire thing. All he can think about are the breaths Clarke takes, one after the other until they slow down into a perfect rhythm, in and out, and she’s asleep.

            Only after she fades into sleep can Bellamy find rest as well. He’ll teach her how to fight in the morning, but for now, he relaxes back on the couch, Clarke still pressed against him, and sleeps.

 

***

 

            Clarke wakes up to the deafening sound of a blender.

            “I’m gonna kill you,” are the first words out of her mouth.

            “Had to wake up sooner or later, Princess,” comes Bellamy’s voice from the kitchen. “Ready to learn how to fight? Your bruise looks a little better.” He was looking at her while she slept? Clarke shakes off the drowsiness of morning and stands, stretching her arms above her head. It causes pain in her back, where the man slammed her into the wall, but she ignores it.

            “What the hell are you making?” she asks. In response, Bellamy switches off the blender and walks into the living room with a glass full of green goo.

            “Kale smoothie, Princess – for a health nut like you,” he says.

            “I am not consuming that,” she says.

            “Fair enough,” he replies, and downs half of it himself. “Aright. Go get changed into some workout gear, and I’ll meet you in the hall in 10. Yeah?”

            “Sounds good,” she replies, and steps out into the hall, but turns back. “Oh, Bellamy?”

            “Yeah?” he says from inside.

            “Thank you,” she says. A beat of silence and his head pops into view.

            “You’re welcome, Clarke,” he says.

 

***

 

            “Is this right?” Clarke asks Bellamy, showing him her hand that is wrapped in some sort of gauze or fabric he gave her.

            “You might want to pull it a little tighter,” he replies, taking her hand and pulling at the strip of fabric. His hands are gentle on hers – hesitant.

            “I’m going to be fine, Bellamy.” She looks up into his dark eyes to prove it. She’s ready. Nothing like last night will ever happen again.

            “Whatever you say, Princess,” he says, holding her small hand in both of his for a moment before letting her go. “There. You should be good to go. Ready?”

            Clarke stands, rolls her shoulders back a few times, and pulls in a deep breath.

            “I am.” As the two make their way over to the punching bags, a few of the guys around the gym whistle at Clarke and talk amongst themselves.

            “It’s about damn time, Blake. Nice job,” says a massive man with long hair. He slaps Bellamy on the back as he and Clarke walk past him toward the bags.

            “Shut up, Roan,” Bellamy says back, and ushers Clarke away from the rest of the onlookers. “Typical.” Clarke hears him say under his breath. Clarke lets out a nervous giggle.

            “Alright,” Bellamy says as the two of them approach a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. “One of the most important things to remember about a solid hit is that the power comes from your whole body – not just your arm. Use the momentum build-up to throw a punch with your whole body. Yeah?”

            Clarke nods, unsure what he means but willing to try. Bellamy steps away from the bag and lets her try. Channeling her frustration and anger, she throws a punch at the bag. It moves, but not far.

            “Not quite,” he says, moving to place himself right behind her. Clarke’s heart picks up at his proximity. She can feel his steady breaths on her neck. “A little higher,” he says, moving one of her arms up with his. Clarke feels the heat of his skin at every point their skin touches.

            “Like this?” she asks, lifting her arm up a bit more.

            “Yeah,” he says. “Also, you might want to widen your stance, so you’ve got a firmer base to stand on.” She widens her feet as directed. He places a hand on her shoulder, moving her just a bit.

            “Perfect?” she asks, trying to focus on anything _but_ the fact that her blood is pumping like crazy. His thumb moves on her shoulder, sending sparks down her back.

“Yeah, um… it’s good, yeah,” he says, removing his hand and stepping away, seeming flustered. She hears him take a deep breath once he’s stepped off to the side again. “Go ahead,” he says, hands on his hips.

            In the new position, Clarke, throws her fist at the bag, using as much momentum as she can. It rocks back much farther this time, swinging on its hinges.

            “That… was… amazing,” she says, feeling invigorated, “That felt great.” She looks over to Bellamy, who has a smile plastered on his face. She can see the freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose.

            “Good job, Princess,” he says, “you got step one.”

 

***

 

            That night, Clarke panics.

            “I can’t _possibly_ tell him now! Not after what has happened in the past 24 hours. It’s…. I… I just need more time, Raven,” she says into the phone, pacing back and forth in her living room.

            “You’re going to regret it if you don’t, Clarke,” says Raven back.

            “Ugh!!!!” she knows her friend is right. “But the past few days have just been so weird, and I’m not sure what he’s thinking, and I just—”

            A knock on her apartment door.

            “Shit,” Clarke whispers.

            “What?” says Raven.

            “Gotta go. Bye,” Clarke says.

            “Seriously, blondie, I’m telling you—” but Clarke hangs up the phone and sets it on the table, rushing to the door.

            “Hey,” says Bellamy as she opens it. He’s wearing a black shirt that shows off the strength of his arms, and jeans that rest a little low on his waist. He holds up a DVD. “Alien?”       

            “You know I hate that movie, right?” she says, opening the door wider so he can come in. Her heart’s already beating harder than ever before. This isn’t going to be good.

            “Alien is a classic, you can’t hate it,” he says, finding his favorite spot on the couch.

            “I _can_ and _do_ hate it, actually,” she says, sitting on the couch with him – a little closer than normal. She’s going to do this. She has to be honest. Right? He sets the DVD on the table and looks over at her.

            “Clarke, I –”

            “Bellamy—” They both speak at the same time.

            “You go first,” she says to him quickly, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear. Bellamy clears his throat and meets her eyes.

            “I, um, just wanted to know if you’re feeling better – from last night. You look much better,” he says, gesturing to her cheekbone where the blue bruise still mars her face. Her cheeks redden, embarrassment flooding her. She looks stupid with that ridiculous bruise on her face, and she knows it.

            “Yeah, I feel better,” she says, lowering her gaze and her face to hide from his view. “Thanks.” His fingers brush her jawline then, and slowly lift her face back up to meet his.

            “I’m serious, Clarke. You look great, even with the bruise. That is, you look better without one, but that’s not what I’m saying, I just mean that –”

            “I love you,” the words fly out of her before she can stop them, and she feels like she might die right then and there if he doesn’t reply. An eternity seems to pass between them. Unable to take the silence any longer, she tries to explain. “I never told you because… because you’re my best friend! And I didn’t want to make things weird and I know you are busy and I’m busy too, so, from a practical standpoint, it just doesn’t make sense. But the way I see you stand up for your friends – and even get into literal knife fights for them – just all made me see that I… that I really _do_ care for you and Raven told me to tell you but I kept refusing and –”

            He pulls her to him and kisses her, cutting her off. His lips are soft, but firm against hers, and she’s so shocked that it takes her a few seconds to respond. Finally she presses back, and places her hands on his chest. They both break away. Clarke tries to hide her crazy smile, but then notices that Bellamy’s wearing one of his own.

            “I never thought you would see me as more than a friend, Clarke. So I kept my distance, not letting myself think about the possibility of being with you. But now…”

            “Now that I embarrassingly confessed my love, you mean?”

            “Exactly,” he says, and she playfully slaps his arm.

            “Now I can tell you how I love you too, and how much I’ve been dying to do this,” he says, and pulls her onto his lap and kisses her, his hands on her hips. Clarke giggles and kisses him back, her hands fisting in his dark hair. He pulls her body closer to his, and she’s breathless. She breaks away from the kiss, and Bellamy kisses down her neck

            “Will you still love me if I refuse to watch that movie?” she asks. His lips pause on her collarbone and he looks up to her, one eyebrow raised.

            “Maybe…” he says, and his lips pull into a smile.

            “You’re ridiculous,” she says, and lowers her lips to his.


End file.
